


We're Okay

by Bunny7033



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunny7033/pseuds/Bunny7033
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are advantages and disadvantages to having a demonic brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Okay

The first time, Sam honestly thinks - for one short moment - that Dean is going to snap his neck. He is a demon, after all; one whose younger brother put salt lines along all the windows and doors of their motel room, and devil’s traps underneath both the beds. It’s a habit, and Sam didn’t mean to but he doesn’t realize his mistake until Dean is stuck next to the television snarling at Sam to _let me go, goddammit Sammy, I’m gonna rip your throat out_.

One second Dean’s hand is wrapped around his neck, and the next it’s clutching his side. Sam furrows his brow in confusion, and briefly entertains the thought that Dean is going to rip his kidney out instead. Demons do that, right?

He’s a little bit worried… that is, until Dean’s fingers are suddenly scribbling all over his sides and stomach, surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. Not that Sam has much time to actually think about it, because he’s twisting and squirming and pushing at Dean’s immovable hands, giggling like a five year old.

Sam’s not complaining about being alive, but he kind of happens to be extremely ticklish, and the longer Dean’s wiggling fingers continue to assault his stomach the more trouble he has with necessary life functions, such as breathing.

“Dehehehean!” he squeals, embarrassingly aware of just how high-pitched his voice has gotten yet at the same time too desperate to care. “S-stohohohohop! Ihihihihi, Ihihi neeheeheed _ahahahair_ -”

Dean doesn’t seem to grasp the severity of his situation - or perhaps he just doesn’t care - until Sam’s laughter goes silent and he’s about five seconds away from passing out. After Dean releases Sam and watches him collapse on the floor in a still-giggling heap, he vanishes and returns moments later with a glass of water, which he offers to Sam with an air of graciousness.

Sam supposes it’s nice enough of him.

Once he recovers enough to control his facial expressions, he glowers at his brother until Dean starts flashing his eyes, and as he watches the repeated switch from black to cross-eyed green he can’t help but laugh.

Sam decides that things could be worse.  
___

The second time, it is an accident. Really. How was he supposed to know that the restaurant salt package he’d - accidentally - left in his pocket would finally fall apart not in the washer, but in the dryer, therefore rendering all of Dean’s newly-washed clothes unwearable?

He _couldn’t_ have known, not that any of his protests seem to matter much to Dean.

As a boxer-clad Dean pins him to the ground and claws mercilessly over his stomach, Sam decides that he’s going to start doing separate loads of laundry.  
___

The third time, Sam is willing to admit that he _may_ have had it coming; though, does leaving the first blade in the middle of a devil’s trap really warrant torture?

Sam thinks not.

He should be surprised - and probably pissed, come to think of it - when Crowley suddenly appears in the bunker. Instead he’s too busy laughing, pinned up against the wall with Dean’s telekinesis. Dean, the bastard, is sitting on top of the kitchen table, relaxed as can be. He’s figured out how to manipulate a swarm of paintbrushes to stroke relentlessly over Sam’s bare skin, and as Sam wriggles helplessly from where he’s trapped against the wall, he bemoans the fact that Dean has escalated to tickling him without any physical contact.

Crowley stares at Sam, his face carefully blank. Then he turns to Dean. “This is your idea of torture?”

Dean is making miniature sigils on the table with the brand new shaker of pepper that Sam just bought _yesterday_ , dammit. He shrugs. “Well, I can’t actually hurt him.”

“You imbecile,” Crowley hisses, aiming a fierce glare at Dean. “You’re a _demon_. You’re supposed to hurt people!” He turns away muttering, “You _Winchesters_.” For all the distaste in his tone, ‘Winchesters’ might as well be synonymous with ‘Christ incarnate.’ He pops out of the room, and the paintbrushes converge on Sam’s bare feet as Dean goes back to wasting away all the condiments.

Sam decides that the king of hell is a douchebag. And they’re going to need more pepper.  
___

The fourth time, Sam is carrying protection. He figures that if he has a little bit of salt or holy water with him at all times, he can simply chase Dean away whenever he decides to be particularly vexing. 

As he recovers from an especially brutal tickle session that culminates with _wings_ brushing over his knees, feathers swirling relentlessly over the sensitive skin, he reflects that everything would have gone fine if Cas hadn’t decided to help.

Sam decides that he is going to kill them both.  
___

The fifth time, Dean lets him run away. Sam stumbles into the living room, Dean stalking after him predatorily and Cas following them both at a leisurely pace.

Even in his laughter-weakened state, he has the presence of mind to pull out his lighter and ignite the ring of holy oil he had carefully poured in the middle of the room. Dean seems amused, until he registers that he too is stuck - when the rug is pulled up to reveal an intricate devil’s trap, the twin looks of fury Sam receives are enough to propel him several feet backwards until he is standing in the doorway, torn between watching the show and running for safety.

Then he realizes that he accidentally set the rug on fire too. As he watches Dean and Cas struggle to put it out, he decides it was worth it.


End file.
